


Where the Heart Is

by thecurlyginger



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2014-08-16
Packaged: 2018-02-13 09:21:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2145399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecurlyginger/pseuds/thecurlyginger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ben Wyatt somehow manages to fill up the space of Leslie's home before stepping foot in it. She struggles to make a house theirs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where the Heart Is

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is a doozy. It's long, deals with a lot of Leslie's pining for Ben through to their engagement, and has knocked me out. It's a labor of love, though, so I sincerely hope you like it.

In 2008, Leslie decides that she doesn't want to have her party at a club where her friends have to celebrate by buying expensive drinks or a dinner where everyone passes the check around, up in arms when it's not enough to cover the bill. No, Leslie Knope is selfless and buys out a fair chunk of her local liquor store and the snack isle of the grocery store to supply her own party. She invites her department, Mark, and an acquaintance here or there to fill the room, and braces herself when they all come into her home. Her clutter (really a polite term for hoarded goods) is hidden away for the evening in her attic and garage. She does still want everybody's respect, after all.

Loud music is playing, people are trying to talk over the noise, and she's hovering by Mark, latching onto his every word while she's too uncomfortable to latch onto his arm. Mark is the type of man who's smooth in his silence, waiting for the women to talk their way into or out of spending the night with him. By not revealing too much of himself, they tend to choose the former to get to know him and end up empty-handed when he leaves only a dent in the pillow the next morning. Leslie's not so naïve that she doesn't have him figured out, she's just blinded by the need to be the one to fix him, to change him, like a faulty swing set. Mark splashes some beer on the floor when he turns around to see Michaela who works in the DMV, dyes her hair beach blonde, and is quite busty.

Leslie tells him it doesn't matter when he apologizes for the spill. Mark doesn't even try to clean it up, too busy introducing himself to her friend and leaving Leslie to get a beer of her own.

Or two.

Or three.

She wakes up the next morning to clean up the mess, the beer spilt now just a sticky spot on her floor that doesn't wipe away with paper towels. Leslie tells herself she'll clean it up tomorrow. She doesn't, and eventually she just puts her boxes of VHS tapes over the stain.

It turns out Mark Brendanawicz doesn't change for Leslie Knope; he changes for Ann Perkins. Maybe he bumps his head so hard in the pit that he thinks life is short, and Ann is just the first person he sees when he wakes up. Who wouldn't love Ann? She's a beautiful, thoughtful nurse whose idea of something exciting and dangerous isn't filling a pit with dirt without consent. Nor is it a late night stakeout to see who's planting weed in the pit's community garden.

Regardless, Leslie has Ann and _now_ she has Dave. Dave's the kind of man who reminds Leslie of husbands on television, the ones who drone “yes, dear” and let their wives lead reckless adventures for no other reason than because they want to. The husbands are so in love with them that they want to give them the world on a silver platter and promise to be there to back the wives up when (because there is no _if_ ) things gets out of hand. Dave releases Tom from custody. Dave thinks it's slightly charming that she's at his doorstep, drunk and exclaiming that their date is going to be awesome. Dave holds a child in “custody” in her office for her, even though he voices his doubts and objections.

But Dave never says “No.” In the literal sense he does, he uses the word often, but he never sits Leslie down and tells her that she's crazy, that she can't do this morally or legally, that she is just a deputy director of a small government department of a small state that doesn't instill awe into anyone who hears about it. Dave puts Leslie on a pedestal. She's his manic, pixie, government employee. While it's flattering and freeing, it's not nearly enough to make her want to leave Pawnee for him. When she lets Dave go, she realizes he was never in her home. She wonders what he would think of her clutter, if she would nervously move it to another room for him.

She would.

She would hide it far away from him to keep up his fanciful image of her.

Justin isn't around enough to deny her much. Instead, he's giving in the way that lowers Leslie's defenses. He shows up once in a while, invites her to Indianapolis, and keeps her hooked onto his next appearance in her life. Justin is her jack-in-the-box – the result is still the same, a constant good time, and she's happy to keep winding even if he's no longer surprising. Justin delivers.

For that, she decides to give back. She invites him to her house and resigns to cleaning the place just for him. Recreation center teachers and a misinterpreted yawn aside... No, there's no denying the evening is a jumbled mess. When he's done making a story of her life to tell future dates probably along the line of, “I was recently in Pawnee, a small town in Indiana, where I saw not only the fattest people around but possibly the most obnoxious woman who repeatedly tries too hard and regrets it when everything gets out of hand and doesn't work out how she envisioned it,” segueing into something exotic and somehow related (she hasn't worked it out yet but she's sure Justin will figure it out), she breaks up with him.

The worst part might be that he doesn't fight it. Justin accepts his fate to leave Pawnee, and his biggest fan Tom Haverford, behind. It makes Leslie feel unsubstantial, like just another stepping stone in his life and Pawnee just where he picked up a postcard of a candy factory to send to a relative along the way. Leslie has no one to impress now, so she puts her clutter back, finding every item's rightful place on her dining room table and on the floor to cover that stain. It's perfect for her.

Just her. Alone, in her house.

Ben Wyatt somehow manages to fill up the space of her home without ever stepping foot in it. He's on her mind before she even knows his name, one of the state auditors who is going to pay them a visit. Leslie angrily brushes her hair that morning, vocalizing arguments out loud.

“These are real people with real feelings, Mr. So-And-So. Real people, real town, real government building, lots of feelings... God, that can use some work.”

She puts on her slacks, blouse, and blazer all as if he's there and by jerking the fabric and shoving it on, she can punch him in the face and make him go away. It's the little things that give her purpose before they collide in a jumble of her yelling at him in the office and kicking him out of a club that she has no authority over. Ben's in her home that night when she guiltily remembers how rude she was, a weight in her chest as she drifts into a troubled sleep.

Leslie doesn't see the signs that he's already worked his way into her life when he's barely been in Pawnee a day.

Apologies, beers, and a Freddy Spaghetti concert later, she finds a way to work with Ben – by speaking his language of accounting. Her days are spent in budget sessions all summer, trying to save her and her city's departments by using calculations to back up her ideas - percentages, profits, losses. At night, she's speaking into her tape recorder as if she's leveling with Ben, countering her own faulted solutions with “but what if” and “before you completely shut it down and move on...” Leslie reviews his notes on her plans, his red chicken scratch filled with more sarcastic commentary than any notes from her college professors, and she laughs while asking the empty room, “Really?”

For all the stressed out phone calls to Ann, all the headaches from being stuck in the meetings all day and not actively rushing around one of her planned activities to make sure it goes off without a hitch, Ben Wyatt manages to provide her the most constant company. He says “No,” but he still surprises her with moments of kindness or humor, a wry joke catching her so off-guard that she not only giggles in the meeting but laughs quietly to herself a little later at the memory of it. Although Leslie won't admit she likes Ben; she just tolerates him.

“So why didn't _you_ go out with Chris? Or Ben for that matter?” Ann asks, still mad at Leslie for ruining what was turning out to be a lovely date with Chris Traeger by stopping by to discuss the Parks Department's budgetary issues and then accidentally admit the date was just a hashed up plan. Leslie's only barely bribed her friend into speaking with her thus far with a fancy coffee drink at the hospital.

“Chris is crazy about _you_ ; he wouldn't say no to a date or to helping you out. And pssh, Ben? Why would I go out with Ben? He'd know exactly what I'm after and probably wouldn't even agree to it. In fact, even if I tried to hold up a decent conversation with him, he'd find every word and connect it to something budget-related.” She drinks from her coffee, not even its syrupy sweetness enough to distract her from the bad taste in her mouth from the idea.

Date Ben? He had the audacity to assume she set up Ann and Chris' date. Which she did, but that's beside the point.

Ann stares at Leslie with a straight face. “Whatever, it's all in the past now. I'm going to beg Chris for another date, and I want you to stay out of it. And, by extent, I don't want Ben to show up so we don't have the most awkward double date again. Deal?”

“It technically wasn't a double date since he and I weren't on a--”

“ _Deal_?”

“Deal.”

From that point on, Leslie accepts that Ann and Chris are a duo. That leaves her and Ben to be... certainly not a duo, but a loosely put-together platonic team. Just for the Harvest Festival. And then he'll leave. After that, there will be no more waffles and chicken soup at her hospital bed, no one to blame the time capsule debacle on, and no one to look out for her when it comes to asking for favors and the other social aspects of performing her job. Weird fear of police officers aside, Ben's great with itemizing priorities, and though he doubts her motives sometimes, it's because he's not used to the Leslie Knope method of extending kindness and hoping it will be extended back to her.

He's also apparently not used to holding a conversation with... anyone... ever. His interviewing skills leave a lot to be desired, and Leslie has half a mind to invite him over to her place to sit him down and hold a mock-interview. There's a lot at stake, she tells herself. But Ben would never agree to that, so Leslie doesn't ask. She records all of her interviews, delighted that she now has one with Ben to watch (and re-watch). Leslie leaves it on while she moves about, making dinner for herself that evening and thinking about what to say at the commendation. When she sees him take control of the questions, there's a thrill that runs through her, courses through her veins, as she takes her bowl of pasta over to the couch and sits with her feet tucked under her.

“Hi, I was wondering if you're going to have rides for the younger children too.”

“Yes,” Ben and Leslie answer at the same time, laughing and then gesturing at each other to take the lead. Finally Leslie answers, counting off with her fingers all the exciting rides they're offering for Pawnee's youngest citizens.

Leslie ignores her response and watches Ben watching her, the corner of his mouth raised, the pursing of his lips that indicates the situation is adequately handled in his opinion. He looks at her, proud and agreeable.

When Joan wraps up the interview, it's as if Leslie's snapped out from hypnotism, left in a daze with cold ravioli and a cold bed to look forward to.

And just like every other night, Ben's there.

This time, he's noticeably there in his absence.

In all of Leslie's events and parties, a disproportionate amount of time is spent planning versus experiencing the result. The Harvest Festival is no different. A cumulation of a desperate plea to hold the festival, weeks of bringing together business owners and asking for favors, and the final hurdle of convincing her town's gullible newscasters that their curse is broken, the festival finally arrives and the days feel too short.

She positions herself by the front gate, greeting the smiling children who will have their memorable first experience of the Pawnee Harvest Festival and their parents who will remember their first festival fondly and hopefully believe this year's is equitable. Leslie has never felt prouder of her work, even after answering the same questions repeatedly.

“The bathroom? Right over there to the left!”

“Li'l Sebastian's just around the corner by the corn dog stand!”

“You can't find your mother? Oh dear...”

Ben's curse is broken with the “ceremonial” dirt, and after he washes off, he stands by Leslie. He doesn't say anything for a while, taking it all in and occasionally glancing over to her. She expects him to get bored and wander away, perhaps stand in the presence of the greatest miniature horse known to man, but he lingers. His presence isn't unwanted, though – far from it.

“Did you make this a rotational position? I could get a volunteer to cover it so you can enjoy the festival.” An earnest expression marks his face.

Silly Ben. “Nope, we don't _need_ anyone to greet people. I'm enjoying the festival from right here.” Leslie's old literature teacher approaches. “Hi, Mrs. Rothschild! Have fun!”

Ben still hasn't left. He looks at her with the same expression she remembers watching on her TV, the same pride, the same adorable little smile that fits his plaid shirts, skinny ties, and poofy hair. “Then I will too,” he says. He only leaves her side to bring her back a water and agrees amicably to walk around with her as it gets darker and the entrance gates close. They shoot water guns at targets, throw rings at bottles, and ride the ferris wheel together as Leslie points out where she was separated from her parents in the corn maze years ago. She cried even after being reunited with them until he dad hoisted her on the gate to watch Li'l Sebastian, and she giggled at the horse's whiny that seemed to be just for her.

“I think I'm starting to see Li'l Sebastian in a new light,” Ben tells her as the ferris wheel jolts back into movement. But he says it while looking at her, and it feels like he's not talking about a miniature horse at all.

The rest of the festival goes by in a blur, but Ben remains her constant. He looks out for her best interests, trying to get her to eat more than just funnel cakes and deep-fried Oreos. Leslie latches onto his support. She knows that the end of the festival means the end of her and Ben, a duo she still can't define as clearly as she could define Ann and Chris when they were together. The last night of the festival, she drags Ben to a photobooth to memorialize their time at _their_ Harvest Festival. She puts an arm around him, he snakes his around her waist after hesitating for a second, and she smiles so wide that her cheeks hurt by the time all three photos are taken. Ben requests a copy of them as well.

“I look manic,” Leslie jokes, but she feels it. She's never been so tired in her life; mixing that with her pride for her work and the sadness for Ben's imminent departure from Pawnee makes her feel like a dry towel that keeps being rung out.

Ben laughs and pushes her shoulder with his. “You look great. I can never smile right in pictures.” Leslie looks down at her photos, seeing Ben's lopsided smile in each of them, his eyes bright. She wants to tell him he looks great, that he should smile like that more often, that he has done so much for Pawnee and for her, and that she can never thank him enough. But Leslie's throat closes and her eyes get glassy with tears at the thought of telling him everything and the reality that she _won't_ tell him any of it, so she hugs him instead with her eyes tightly shut.

They don't pull apart unless Leslie thinks she can do so without looking like she's about to cry. When she finally looks at Ben, it's like he understands completely. He nods, and she's bracing herself for him to say something profound or self-deprecating or anything. “Let's go stand by the gate and wish everyone goodbye,” he offers, and it's the best proposition he's had since stepping foot in her town.

Once the gates are closed and the vendors are packing up their tents, the volunteers are sent off with commemorative shirts and praise from Leslie. Her department leaves exhausted and thankful that it's over but congratulate her nonetheless. Ben insists on sticking around until everything is cleared, but Leslie sends him home. “I need someone to be coherent enough to talk about the festival on Monday.” The parking lot's overhead lights illuminate them, the flashing lights from the festival's games and attractions all turned off.

“Be safe,” he instructs her. “And be proud. You did it!” His photostrip from earlier sticks out of his laminated badge that hangs around his neck, their photos together facing his chest.

“Would it be too cheesy if I said, 'We did it'?”

Ben laughs, shrugging. “Only if music started swelling in the background.”

“Hmm... Let me try it. We did it!” She waits expectantly for music to sound, but instead metal bars clash against each other as booths collapse. “Great, not too cheesy. Just the right mix of cheese and sentiment.” Leslie hugs Ben briefly and then turns him around and pushes him away. “Now go!”

He does as he's instructed, honking his car horn and waving when driving past. Leslie leans against a post until everyone's gone, dawn peaking out through the night sky. As she drives home, she thinks what she usually does when she's this exhausted – _I'm going to sleep well tonight._ It's barely a thread of a silver lining but one regardless. She parks her car, the dull blue-gray of morning lighting her neighborhood, and sees her elderly neighbor Rosalyn picking up her Sunday paper.

“Burning the midnight oil again, Leslie?” Rosalyn asks, clutching her nightgown against her to fight off the fall breeze.

“I've been awake so long I can't even remember midnight,” Leslie responds and wishes her neighbor a good day before she closes herself into her house, locks the door, and flops onto her couch.

Kicking her shoes off, she lays there, ready for sleep to take her for a couple of hours. It never does, no matter how many pillows she rests on, how many curtains she closes, and how many positions she maneuvers into. Her mind's too preoccupied with her next idea and even more so with her dorky interaction with Ben. Frustrated, she groans into a pillow and gets up, her body creaking as she goes to make coffee. If she can't sleep now, she's going to stay up until nightfall and sleep like a baby then. The coffeemaker beeps to indicate that it's finishing brewing, and Leslie grabs her biggest mug, filling it with cream, sugar, and finally the coffee itself.

One cup settling in, it's time to change out of the clothes she's officially worn for 24 hours. Better yet, it's time to shower. Leslie moves to her bedroom to take off her clothes, feeling something poke her through her pocket. It's the photos of her and Ben, slightly wrinkled. “Oh no,” Leslie gasps softly, walking around her bedroom with her pants around her ankles, kicking them off as she tries to find a place for it. She takes a dictionary from her bookshelf and puts the strip in the middle to flatten it out. Deciding that partially naked debacle was a little ridiculous even for herself, she showers, letting the hot water fall over here until she feels like she can face the world again.

Leslie fills up her mug with more coffee once she's out of her steamy bathroom and in a fluffy robe. A red light flashes on the corner of her phone, indicating a text message. She unlocks the screen, seeing that it's barely 8 o'clock.

**Ben (7:42am): Do you make it home all right?**

**Ben (7:42am): *did**

**Ben (7:43am): You get the idea.**

She breathes a laugh from her nose.

**Leslie (8:04am): I did! Thanks for checking in. :)**

**Leslie (8:05am): I take it you're up too? Unless you're sleep-texting, in which case, I commend you on your talent.**

Leslie knows that he has at least an inkling of a life outside of work, so it shouldn't bother her so much that he doesn't respond instantly. But it does. She resents herself for her bad joke, forbidding herself from other conversations until she sleeps, and chooses to take the day to manage her life for the first time in over a week. Leslie's in the middle of paying a bill when her phone chimes. She races to check it.

**Ben (9:36am): I slept for three hours and was rudely awaken by Chris wondering if I wanted to “detox from the festival.” I might have slammed the door in his face and just spent the last two hours apologetically stretching his limbs.**

**Leslie (9:37am): He deserved a good door in the face! Why would you want a festival detox? Festivals are great. In fact, people should use festivals to detox from detoxes.**

**Ben (9:37am): My sentiments exactly.**

They text on and off throughout the day, Ben suggesting movies to watch on TV while they provide commentary back and forth. That night, Leslie sleeps soundly for her usual three hours, Ben's well wishes for a good night's sleep in her phone by her bed. Returning to work with the pressure of the next big Leslie Knope idea on her shoulders is not conducive to sleep afterward, though. Ben's faith in her does more harm than good, his expectations of her so high that she feels like she's letting him down by not letting him leave Pawnee with another great plan in motion. And though she can satisfy the demand for new ideas after a real night's sleep, there's another fear she has yet to face in full: the countdown to Ben's departure.

She's resigned that it's going to happen, that Ben is going to leave Pawnee and move on to another city in need, but Leslie doesn't bring it up to him, thinking that maybe he'll just forget to move on and find himself there long enough that it becomes too much of an effort to leave. An unlikely outcome that's unchallenged until Ben gives her his options, move on or accept Chris' job offer and become the assistant city manager. There's really no choice in her opinion. Leslie can barely compose herself, telling him to make a pros and cons list. What she doesn't tell him is that she's made one too.

Pros and Cons for Ben Wyatt to Stay in Pawnee

Pros:

  * Staying in one place for once

  * Seeing through all the change he's implemented

  * Knowing he has a group of friends

  * He doesn't have to piss off a new town and a new deputy director of a Parks and Recreation Department

  * He can make sure Leslie watches all the television shows he recommends




Cons:

  * Why would there be any cons to living in Pawnee?




It's safely stored in her office at work in case he needs persuading, and Leslie seriously regrets not having it on her when Andy and April get married and everything seems to not make sense to her. “You should say,” Leslie tells Ben, ready to recite her list as best as she can from memory, now with an added _I'll miss you if you decide to go._

“I already took the job,” Ben replies, smiling. Andy and April can have a baby at that very moment for all Leslie's concerned, she's so happy. She and Ben are tipsy and laughing at Jerry's shirt and even Leslie can't convince herself it's just giddy relief that she has someone in the city that's on her side.

No, this is Ben Wyatt – an impeached mayor and former state auditor who's become the second-most texted person in her phone (behind Ann of course) and the person she's happiest to see at work now. There's no denying her feelings for him. It's time to bite the bullet and ask him out.

After the initial disappointment of being turned down, everything feels like a jumbled mess of tension, desire, and depression that they both feel _something_ and can't act on it because of that _god damn fucking piece of shit rule_. It feels nice to call it that once in a while. Their road trip couldn't be more of a sign that they're going to cave with Ben's heartfelt speech about Pawnee/her – but mostly her – and those simple words, “It's not just me, right?”

It's _never_ been just Ben who's felt those feelings. Ben has been her everything since he stepped foot into her life - her enemy, her reluctant co-worker, her festival partner, her friend, her... whatever they are now. Not even Chris with his incessant bladder and his Boggle can stand in the way of that. Yet she's going to let him for now; she's going to hand Chris her receipts, go home, cry for a bit, and stay up late working on an argument on why she and Ben should be able to date and all the sacrifices she's willing to make for it. Leslie's halfway through internally composing the opening sentence of her case when she nearly runs into Ben in the doorway.

She's on autopilot stating her purpose there, unable to be in the same room as him now that they're a ticking time bomb of making out about to got off at any second. Before she knows it, Ben's hands are cradling her head, holding her steady in the most passionate kiss she's ever shared. His lips are soft and constantly moving, not settling on just one chaste kiss but many deep, full ones, like he's tasted her and can't get enough.

“Uh oh.”

In the movie of her life, Leslie thinks this is the moment when there's a jump cut to them furiously making out in her bed. In reality, it's when they're hurriedly walking out of City Hall, moving slow enough that anyone who's watching isn't suspicious but fast enough that their doubts can't catch up to them.

“Separate cars,” Leslie says as they make it to the deserted parking lot. “Where are we going?”

Ben sighs. “I've got Andy and April at my place, so no chance of staying incognito.”

“I'll text you my address,” she says as she turns to find her car. Ben stops her, pulling her arm back to kiss her again. Leslie hums against his lips. “Nonono not here. Park a couple houses down when you get there; the street's usually open.” She squeezes his hand, and he's grinning, eyes sincere.

“We're really doing this,” Ben whispers so softly that she can barely hear him. The words aren't meant for her; she thinks he's trying to convince himself it's happening. Leslie's throat closes up again like it did at the Harvest Festival, and she nods before getting into her car and texting him the address.

The sound of her engine starting seems louder than usual. She wants to shush it, as if it's going to tell the world that she and Ben are finally acting on their feelings. At every stoplight, Leslie peers into her rearview mirror, seeing Ben's Saturn a safe distance away. It's not until she's pulled into her driveway that she remembers her house is all sorts of cluttered and messy in the way that might make Ben say, “You know what? I just realized I've gotta go... See you never.”

Headlights shine down her street. It's him. It's too late. Leslie fumbles around for her keys with a shaking hand, unlocks the door, and tells herself she's an incorrigible slob, so if Ben can't deal with that, he won't be able to deal with her. She flips the hallway switch on and puts her bag on the table, hearing a gentle knock behind her. Leslie opens the door, an apology for the mess on her lips before she swallows it back down.

Ben takes it all in. “Interesting,” he says in a tone she can't read.

“Yeah?”

“You know, I always envisioned you to be a neat person but this feels more right. Like what your mind probably looks like every-- Are those VHS tapes?” Ben walks over and looks in the box, picking up each case and reading the titles. “The original _Muppet Movie_? Nice!”

Leslie knows they could be on the couch or in the bedroom right now, but she's nervous, still barely comprehending that Ben is in her house, has admitted to imagining her house, isn't completely turned off by her mess, and is holding an obsolete piece of technology like he's found buried treasure. “Wanna watch it?” She asks.

It's only after the credits roll when Leslie's about to ask what they should do next that Ben kisses her again, passionate and heated, his hands running up and down her body. She thinks they're about to just settle on hooking up right on the couch, judging by him laying her down on the cushions and kissing her neck, her cheeks, her ears, everything he can get his lips on. Leslie's sighing blissfully, her eyes closing and her hands running up and down his back from where she's managed to untuck his shirt. Opening them, she sees Ben look at her expectantly. Did he say something?  
“Where's your bedroom?” He asks again.

“Past the kitchen, down the hall, and to the right,” Leslie responds coyly, earning herself a laugh from Ben and a playful swat on the arm. “I'll just show you, I _guess_.”

They kiss along the way, getting particularly sidetracked when Leslie finds a place on Ben's collarbone that, when kissed, shuts down all trail of thought. She sees that as reason to continue, leaving a wet trail along his chest wherever she can reach with his shirt undone. Ben has other plans.

“Not that this isn't fun and,” he pauses, intaking a breath when she racks her nails along his shoulder, “ _magnificent_ , but I'm getting too much attention right now. Bedroom, please.” Even Jack London couldn't provide more beautiful words than those.

Leslie leads him, opening her bedroom door and plopping on the bed. Ben pulls off his shirt and moves in, all lean muscle, chest pale and lightly dusted with hair. Incredibly sexy. Maneuvering between her legs, he kisses her again, his weight on his arms on either side of her. Every movement he makes is slow and deliberate, like he's meeting her for the first time through her body. He learns what makes her laugh, sigh, or moan and uses that knowledge to make her putty beneath him.

It's always been an instinct of hers to cover up, even when having sex. Once Ben rids her of her bra and panties, getting up to remove his pants and briefs, Leslie turns over to lift the comforter. But before she can slip underneath, he sounds his protest.

“It's taken so long for me to see you like this. You're so _fucking_ beautiful and sexy. Don't cover back up, Leslie.” Ben brushes her hair aside to kiss her forehead. Leslie nods and lays back down, her cheeks flushed and her heart in her throat as Ben situates himself back on top of her, just looking her up and down, taking her all in.

They make love slowly and a little bit awkwardly, as is usually for the first time with a new partner. Leslie bumps her head against his, laughing it off until Ben gives her something to cry out in pleasure about. She's never felt so undone in her life, so satiated after sex. When he comes back from cleaning himself up, she silences whatever he's about to say about eating something with a kiss.

“Is it too much to say it was worth the wait? Let me know, because I can think of something else to say if that's the case,” she jokes, but there's honesty underlining her words. They've waited a long time for this, pent up feelings becoming their normal correspondence until now. There's a little voice in Leslie's head that tells her she and Ben might have jumped into things too quickly; sex complicates things like rational thinking.

Ben sees her concerned expression. “Do you want to talk about this?”

“No,” Leslie says too quickly before dropping her head. “ _Yes_. We need to, Ben. We could lose our jobs, but I'm not turning back. I'm not pretending this didn't happen so we can be sad and keep asking ourselves 'What if?' We _know_ what if, and it's amazing and liberating and feels really, really good.”

He reaches over and soothes her hand that's been clutching the comforter without her even realizing it. “I know, Leslie. God, it's unreal how incredible it feels right now to be with you. I'm not leaving. I'm doing this with you, and if it means we do it privately for now and only we know, then that's what's going to happen.”

“Can Ann know?”

“You're telling me she doesn't already know? She seems okay, so sure. No one else, though. If Chris finds out, I want it to be through us and not through the grapevine.”

Kissing as if to sign the verbal contract of their agreement, Leslie lets Ben embark on his journey home to not raise any suspicion with Andy and April. She feels as if she's embarking on the most meaningful relationship she's had thus far. As much as Leslie hates breaking the rules, she hates not being true to herself even more.

Her sheets smell of Ben, and she throws on some clothes, the drive to make a special announcement keeping her awake. Hours and an email with a video attachment to Ann later, Leslie can finally sleep well for the first night in a long time. She sleeps soundly for the next few days surprisingly, sometimes with Ben beside her promising to get up early and sneak back into his own home and sometimes after watching him drive home and receiving a text that says he wishes he could hold her every night. That doesn't take it's toll on her or their blossoming relationship.

Sneaking around at work does.

Being caught redhanded (and so embarrassingly) by Ron is bad enough. Having to bribe a maintenance worker and nearly killing Ron... that's a stress factor, to put it mildly. Leslie can say “No more displays of affection at work” or “Keep it in your pants, Wyatt” with a smile on her face. She can reassure him that every night, they'll show how much they care for each other enough for the whole day. But Leslie can't be certain that it will get easier. If Chris catches them and Leslie loses her job, she'll be crushed and will probably blame Ben as well herself. It'll be a strain on their relationship, likely the end of something happy and the beginning of something bitter and full of resentment.

That night, the night of the memorial for Li'l Sebastian when she wants most to live her life as freely as that miniature horse did, Leslie intends to bring up the idea of telling Chris to Ben. She tells him otherwise at first because she loves her job, but she can only sustain lying for so long. Bubble be damned.

Then she's sidetracked by Elizabeth and William approaching her regarding running for public office. Her excitement meets with dread, her world turned upside down. It makes Leslie so conflicted that she wants to throw up. She considers asking the scouts “for a friend” if dating one's boss in local government would be a scandal, just to hear them say “Of course it is!” and the consequences of doing so. Maybe hearing them would make a decision easy. But Leslie lets them leave ignorant of her actions because she's a coward afraid to ask for too much, for her dream job and her dream man.

Her mother would say the job is more important.

Apparently, so would Ben.

It's a joint decision to end their relationship. Leslie doesn't think less of Ben for not fighting for them; even suggesting she should give up her dream of running for office isn't in his nature. If anything, Ben agreeing without protest is the smartest move, leaving her without the stress of a painful breakup and with a friend (Ben has to be her friend, her good friend) that she can turn to who's won an election before. The Knope 2012 button is perfect, too. It's so perfect that she feels bad for running away at dinner and offers to take him out.

Their dinner is delicious, and for one evening, they forget that they're supposed to be broken up. The conversation flows as freely as the cheap glasses of wine. They stay at the restaurant long enough to have dessert and make sure they're both safe to drive, sipping on ice water near the end. Ben walks her to her car, and hugs her goodbye. I'll be so easy, so easy to just kiss him again. She misses him so much; she needs him, and--

“Leslie.” It's a warning to stop, so foreign coming from his mouth. Leslie's a breath away from his mouth, her eyes intent on his lips until she looks up and sees the pain in his eyes. “Please don't make this harder.”

So she doesn't. “I'm so sorry, Ben. I don't know what came over me.” Lies. She knows very well what came over her. “This isn't going to be easy, is it?” Hiding her face in her hands, she's too afraid to look at him.

“No it's not.” He sighs, his breath foggy in the cold air. “Are we going to be okay, or should we give each other more space?” Leslie takes a chance to look at Ben after that, really look at him. His eyes are sad, conflicted. His mouth turned down and hands shoved in his pockets, Ben Wyatt has closed himself off. To protect himself from her? Likely.

The thought makes Leslie hate herself a little bit.

“We'll be fine.” She says it to Ben before she gets in her car and drives away.

She says it to herself in the mirror as she turns off the lights and gets into bed.

But no matter how many times she says it with different inflections and facial expressions, it always feels false. Leslie buries herself in her work so she doesn't have time to say it anymore. She works on her speeches, juggles that with Parks work, and agrees to rewrite a section in her book _Pawnee: The Greatest Town in America_ so that it will be all ready for publishing. Holing herself up for the day in her home, she's on a roll, writing paragraph after paragraph on foreign culture's influence on the town in a way that doesn't make it sound like the townspeople killed and burned everyone and everything they didn't understand.

A word, or rather not being able to think of a word, screeches her progress to a halt. Leslie paces around the room, listing letters, synonyms, and more until she concludes that it begins a-s-s, similar to what she feels like at that moment. Looking to her bookshelf, she pulls out her dictionary and starts flipping through. “Assimilates!” she exclaims before even getting to the A's, proud that she's figured it out. “Take that, dictionary!” After slapping the book, it falls to the ground. Leslie's sure she looks ridiculous at this point, so she picks it up, noticing something slipped out.

A strip of pictures.

 _Oh_.

She looks at herself, not even from a year ago, so happy, so proud, so unknowing of her future opportunity - an opportunity that would split up the happy two people (because they weren't a couple yet) in her hands. Then the pictures are shoved back in the dictionary and the dictionary back in the shelf to hide all evidence that Ben was, _still is_ , there in that house. Sure, Leslie can argue that they had fun while they could. But why even kid herself that there's some semblance of happiness to gain from picking at straws. Ben may still smile at her when she passes him in the hall and volunteer to help where he can, but their friendship can never come close to what it was before they dated.

Not unless she tries.

Evidently, trying just puts her in a worse position with Ben. She tries to keep him by her side (read: tries to keep him away from Shawna, the man-stealing reporter with only sometimes-good headlines) and tries to interact with him in Model UN. What does it get her? Agreeing on a measly few minutes to talk to him at work. Worse is that Ben has essentially implied she can't spend more time with him because she sacrificed him for her election.

There are many things Leslie wants to do. She wants to kindly inform Ben that he could have told her that in giving up their romance, she'd be giving up him too. She also wants to tell him that he's being incredibly unfair because at least she's _trying_ to spend time with him rather than offer a few pity minutes during the day to talk about how much paperwork they have to do and how much it sucks that they burned their tongues on their coffee today and - whoops, their time is done so now they can get back to ignoring each other until tomorrow.

Leslie doesn't do either of those things. She does something much worse by trying to manipulate the people of Pawnee and the system so they have to work together forever. That's what she wants with Ben. Forever. But “forever” is harder to say than “Hold off on bringing your comically big ribbon and scissors, looks like there's a protest a-brewing!”

And where does her mess leave her? He snips his crappy gift wrapping ribbon with the scissors from his desk that he used to complain to her were sticky for some reason as easily as she's been snipped from his life.

She goes home that day, Ann's justified accusations that she's a steamroller ringing in her head. Leslie is so disappointed in herself for stepping all over Ben that she sees her mess of a house and decides that's she's made enough of a mess of her life, thank-you-very-much, and it's time she clean up and salvage what she can. Before Leslie knows it, she's filled her trashcans to the brim with all that's non-essential in her life, birdhouses and old newspapers gone. Once her dining room table is clear and her coffee table visible underneath a couple of books and commemorative _Harry Potter_ coasters, she turns to the stacks of boxes in her living room.

That's when Leslie sees it - the boxes of VHS tapes. She and Ben went through and watched more than just the one his first night at her house, so she hovers over them, unsure if they're as non-essential as the old Leslie unwilling to help the town budget. She made herself essential once; she can do it again. After moving the boxes aside in her decidedly “undecided” pile, that old stain sticks out like a sore thumb. She grabs all-purpose cleaner and paper towels and scrubs the floor as if it's going to scrub her actions clean off too. The grunge rubs off, leaving her floor shiny and clean.

Perhaps Leslie can't have a slate as clean as this floor; she can't erase Mark who spilled his beer four years earlier, Dave who saw her as everything she wasn't, or Justin who saw her as another funny story to accumulate. She can't undo what she's said and done with Ben, but she's sure as hell going to scrub and work at it because if she can't have Ben, she's not going to leave her good memories of her time with him tarnished and stained.

With the phone in her hand, she drafts the text begging Ben for forgiveness. Leslie doesn't send it, though; after all of her cleaning, it's past 1am. First thing in the morning, before she even gets out of bed, the text goes out. There's no response, no matter how many times she checks in her house or while walking to the office, shivering with a glove removed to impatiently unlock her screen. She rereads her text for the hundredth time that day.

**Leslie (6:00am): Ben, I am very sorry for the way I've been acting. If you can bear to see me at all, please meet me at our park tonight. I want to see our last project together through.**

At lunch, Ann smiles sympathetically at her. “He might come through,” she says, but Leslie thinks otherwise.

After work, Leslie walks to her car and sees Ben's still in the lot. She drives straight to the park and sits on the bench built for two. Her phone chimes. Diving into her pocket to check, Leslie sees it's just Ann asking if Ben's there yet. Leslie responds shortly that he isn't. Darkness has fallen. Leslie's phone is about to die. She has hit rock bottom, so she does all she can at this point and calls Ben.

It goes to voicemail.

“Ben, I... You didn't respond to my text. You're angry with me, and I'm angry with me, and we can all agree that I messed up. I treated you like I could twist and turn you around to conform to what's convenient for me. That wasn't okay. I'm sitting at the smallest damn park in Indiana, it's dark, it's cold, and I need to talk to you. My phone's close to dying, so if you're not here or can't make it, I guess--” Her phone turns off abruptly. “Damn it!” Shoving it away in her pocket, she continues to shiver on the picturesque bench, feeling like she's leading any life but the fairytale one this park projects. Maybe she'll freeze here and forever be on display as “The Lady Who Screwed Everything Up.”

Some time later, a figure moves toward her in the distance. Squinting, she sees Ben approach hesitantly. Leslie offers him the seat and offers him freedom of her.

_Just say screw it._

They won't see each other anymore.

_Just say screw it._

Her job is in jeopardy.

_Screw it._

Her campaign could be over.

_Screw it all!_

And his lips are on hers in an answer that screams the affirmative she needs. Ben and Leslie, Leslie and Ben, together again.

In a blur, they're already back to her place, Ben parking next to her in the driveway for her neighbors and the world to see. She lets him in from the cold, and he looks around. “You cleaned?”

“Everything was a mess without you. I mean, things were a mess before, so just imagine when my mess becomes a mess... I got rid of everything I didn't need, and you know what I was left with? An empty house that missed you and needed you as much as I do.” There's a moment of silence after the words leave her, as if Ben's letting it all sink it.

He finally opens his mouth to speak. “The house has feelings?”

Leslie grabs a couch cushion and throws it at him, laughing despite herself at his callback to their first day working together, or more accurately, against each other. Ben pulls her close to kiss her again. She pinches him, and he cries out against her mouth.

“You're not dreaming. I'm probably not – ow! Definitely not dreaming either. We're doing this? Yeah, we're doing this. We're going to tell Chris that we have been dating for the last year, sort of... We'll come up with a nice way to say that, and--”

She's stifled by Ben's hand over her mouth. “No more talking,” Ben instructs.

She nods.

“No more over-thinking because that's what got us in this mess in the first place.”

She nods again.

“From this point on, Leslie Knope, you and I are just going to do. We're going to do whatever we need to do for _us_. Can you do that?

She nods, mumbling against his hand.

Ben takes his hand away apologetically. “Sorry, what was that?”

“I said, I'll do anything for us.” And she means it.

They kiss again and don't speak much for the rest of the night, letting their gentle caresses and reintroductions to each other's bodies speak for itself. Ben doesn't leave that night to sneak back. “I'm right here beside you,” he whispers to Leslie when she cuddles into him and tells him to stay sleepily, “and I'm not leaving.”

Leslie makes a wish he never does.

If wishes were votes, there'd be no contest in the election for Pawnee city council. But they're not. They're futile to Leslie anyway when she hears about Ben's job offer the night of the election, the night before their lives are about to be theirs again. She tells him not to go, electing not to say that he was gone long enough from her just a few short months ago. This is Leslie Knope, though. Leslie Knope who hosts her own birthday parties and cleans up after her guests (sometimes years later). Leslie Knope who witnessed Ben resign from his job and take the blame for bribing the maintenance worker for her. She can't, in her right mind, deny him anything after that.

After all, the Leslie Knope method is extending kindness and hoping it will be extended back to you. Ben should know that by now.

So she takes her words back and tells him to go right before receiving the news that her dream has come true – she's been elected to city council. Leslie gets to have her dream, let Ben have his. And if she holes him up in her house for the next two days before he leaves, subsisting only on sex and JJ's Diner take-out food, that's their business.

Ben's taking the last flight of the day, leaving for the airport in the early evening, and Leslie's doting on him. With care and precision, she folds his clothes and ties and packs them (then unpacks and refolds them). In the front of his carry-on, she's hidden candy bars and his favorite DVDs.

“One last thing,” she says while he's in the foyer about to step out, and she runs back to her bedroom. Leslie grabs her dictionary and holds both ends of the cover to shake out the pages. Her strip of photos tumbles out, and she rushes back to hand it to him.

Ben takes the offered paper, smiling at it fondly. “That won't be necessary,” he tells her, and before Leslie can be offended, he pulls out his wallet and shows her his copy of the folded strip tucked behind his dollar bills. “Ready?” He asks, and she knows Ben isn't just asking if they can leave; he's asking if Leslie is ready to be apart from him, if they are ready to go on this journey apart, together.

Nodding, Leslie turns to quickly hang her photo on the fridge with her Harvest Festival magnet and then join him outside by the car. They load his bags, get in, and drive in silence. They'll Skype, she tells herself, they'll talk on the phone. They'll be all right.

After a tearful goodbye by the passenger loading area, Ben turning around five times to run back and kiss her again before she finally pushes him into the terminal shouting “I'm driving away!” even though she's really watching his butt retreat for the last time, Leslie begins her quiet drive home. Her house is empty when she returns, evidence of Ben's presence there echoing in the abundance of space. Without Ben to occupy it with her, the absence of her clutter seems more noticeable.

Over the last few months of her campaign, he spent a good portion of their evenings at her place. Ben would go back to Andy and April's where their campaign operation was set up (“You can't have it in your house, Leslie. You barely sleep as it is.”) and stay over every once in a while when working for a couple of hours turned into slaving over scheduling appearances for half the day. But Leslie didn't feel lonely then, with Ben just a few miles or a quick phone call away, always willing to talk. If she felt especially adventurous, she'd stay after a campaign meeting, their making out on the couch to the sound of April's protests moving to his bedroom where she could quietly, privately, and intimately thank Ben for all of his work.

Long distance doesn't allow those luxuries. Sure, she can call in the middle of the day, and knowing sweet, loving Ben, he'd pick up no matter what. That's not fair to him though, or the promise they made that they can do long distance, they can make it work. Hindering Ben from his job isn't going to make it work, it's just going to distance him. Leslie is going to have to show some restraint. Ben calls late per her request to tell her he's arrived.

“I'm glad you made it there safe. Get some sleep and kick butt tomorrow,” she says from where she's laying in her empty bed, staring at the ceiling.

“I'll call you to tell you how my first day was,” Ben replies loudly over the noise of the luggage carousel. “Or we could try out Skype. I miss you already.”

Sighing and turning to his side of the bed, she whispers “I miss you too.”

 _Skype fucking sucks._ Everyone says long distance is easy now with video chatting. Whoever says “It's like you're in the same room,” is on Leslie's shit list. She has never felt so lonely while in a relationship, so empty-handed. All they have are words. Seeing Ben is nice of course, but when the image is so pixelated and freezes and delays, facial expressions are lost. Sarcasm is hard to read. There are moments of silence so trying after a joke or worse, after something meant to be taken seriously, that she has half a mind to bite out “I'll talk to you when I see you next week. In person. Like it should be.”

Ben comes to Pawnee after three weeks away and kisses the apologies right out of Leslie. Her history of pent up feelings and Ben Wyatt provide excellent evidence of why you _shouldn't_ hold things back however, so she doesn't let him forgive her for things she hasn't said.

“I'm sorry I can't handle this better.”

“I'm sorry that it sounds like I'm mad at you.”

“I'm sorry that I'm being selfish.”

He kisses each one away with a peck on each cheek and her nose. Ben, the godsend that he is, then fills the space in her bed where he spoons her, in her kitchen where he leans against the counter waiting for the coffeemaker to brew, and in her living room where he put her collection of VHS tapes on a shelf to display, claiming they'll be a worth a lot of money in the future. _They're worth a lot to us now_ , she thinks as he puts one in the machine.

“We should move in together, right?” Leslie asks the moment the thought crosses her mind, and Ben pauses, a remote in each hand like he's going to rewind her and have her repeat the question in slow motion.

“Wh- Yeah. We should. Seriously, I don't even have a lot of stuff so you could probably go to Andy and April's, pack it in your car, and it'll be done.” Leslie gets up to do just that, grabbing her coat and her keys. “Wait, Leslie, I didn't mean do it right now! What's the rush?”

Turning around to face him, she tries to shrug her actions of with a crooked smile, but her face crumbles. Everything she wants to keep to herself and not ruin their weekend with comes flooding out. “I just...” Leslie can barely breathe. Are those tears? Oh no, she's crying. Ben rubs her back soothingly and leads her to sit back down on the couch. This isn't going like she planned. Leslie sobs harder for the fact that she's being so selfish and ruining their short time together by wanting more. “It's so _hard_ . Not giving up Parks and not having you and just having your tin voice through a phone or through my computer speakers. I want you here.” She hits the couch for emphasis. “And if that means I'm stuck with just your dorky plaid shirts and your... 50-disc _Star Wars_ collection or whatever, then I'm going to take what I'm given and enjoy it knowing you're coming back here. To me.”

“Was there ever any question that I wasn't?” Ben looks so sad, like he has caused this pain.

“I don't know anymore. I feel like because I lost you before so easily that I can lose you again.” Ben hugs her tightly. Leslie clutches onto his shirt, the fabric wrinkling in her tight fists.

Pulling her back, he wipes her tears away with his thumbs and cups her cheeks in his hands. “We knew this was going to be hard. But you're not going to lose me. I'm coming back to you, so when you're up to it, you can get all my crap and put it wherever you want in your home so that it feels like _ours_. But I want to spend my weekend with my girlfriend, Councilwoman Knope, who knows how to show a guy a good time. No leaving, no work stuff. Just us.” His languid kiss feels like honey pouring through her, sweet and smooth until she can breathe easily. “One last thing,” he pulls away to say, “it's a 25-disc collection.”

She laughs against his mouth, soon forgetting her worries as Ben kisses every inch of skin he can reach, savoring the time they have now and whispering hotly against her ear everything he's going to do at the mere thought of her when they're apart.

Ben's visit is over all too quickly. Leslie drives him, April, and Andy to the airport so they can all say their goodbyes. The young couple make out in the backseat ferociously. Ben and Leslie just look forward in disgust, turning the radio on loudly to cover up the sound of lips smacking and Andy's giggling. Leslie hasn't told Ben that the real reason she volunteered to take everyone is to pack his things when she drops Andy off, but Ben's reminder to grab his Batman costume from the back of his closet tells Leslie she didn't have to. They kiss goodbye, Leslie's heart less heavy with her ticket to DC a month from now purchased. “I love you,” Ben tells her earnestly. She repeats the words back to him. Just five more months.

Andy's dejected in the front passenger seat the entire ride back. “April's gone, you're taking Ben's stuff... the house is going to be even lonelier! What do I do, Leslie?” Usually, she enjoys being Andy's mother-figure, helping him through adult issues like going after someone you love and doing a job thoroughly so you'll be asked to do it again. But Leslie's the last person to give advice on being lonely right now.

“Andy, I don't-- What if we spent more time together? You could help me move Ben's stuff, I could make you dinner... It could be fun.” It sounds lame coming from her mouth, something she expects from Rosalyn next door. _Hey youngster, why don't ya come on over, help me with some heavy lifting so I don't throw out my back, and I'll make ya a tuna casserole!_

From the corner of her eye, she can see Andy thinking it through. “Yeah, sure. Why not?”

It proves to not be a disaster of an evening. Andy helps her load up the car, though he spends more time marveling over Ben's DVD collection and playing renditions of the Batman theme on his guitar when Leslie hangs up the costume in her backseat. There are lyrics about being a math nerd that she won't tell Ben she's cackled – literally cackled – over, but the rest proves to be a great story to tell him the next time they talk. Leslie makes Andy roasted chicken and mashed potatoes while he puts all of Ben's boxes into the living room and enjoys her deluxe cable TV package.

“I'm glad you and Ben worked out, both times,” Andy says while gnawing on a chicken leg.

“Both? You knew about the first time and it... not working out?” Leslie asks, pausing with her fork halfway to her mouth.

Andy nods, taking a pull from his beer before continuing. “Yeah. Ben confided in me that you two wanted to be together but you couldn't because of Chris' rule. It was nice being in on the secret, though. 'Course, I didn't know you two actually worked out sorta already until Ron told us the day of the trial that we were going to help you two do this for real. It was pretty cool, knowing you and Ben who are like the king and queen of doing everything good and right were actually _doing_ it at work.”

“We never actually did--” Leslie can't finish the protest because it feels too great to have been supported by a man who's essentially a teddy bear reincarnated. “Thanks, Andy,” she says instead and drops him off later that night thankful for all the friends she has to help make Pawnee her home.

Leslie tackles Ben's things the next day. She can't deny how nervous she is, as if all of the skeletons and private aspects of his life are in the top box or the one underneath it, but Ben granted her permission to go through his stuff. The man traveled city to city for years; it's not like he's going to be bringing along photo albums and love letters from his ex-girlfriends. So she opens the box, finding instead some books. That's easy – just put them on the shelf next to hers. Clothes? Hang them up in the closet and fold them up in the dresser.

DVDs? Simple.

Batman costume? Manageable.

Two pairs of shoes? Only two? Please.

Before she knows it, the project she anticipated would take a week is done. Only an hour has passed and already her home is theirs. Leslie christens it by watching one of his DVDs while going over some budgets for work. She pours wine in one of his glasses, eats dinner with one of his forks on her plate. It doesn't feel quite right, though, like Jerry calling himself “Gary,” or giving a dog a new name and expecting it to stick. This won't do.

Leslie needs Ann's help.

Ann wanders into the home Saturday evening. “I don't think I'm ever going to get over the fact that you cleaned this place. _By yourself_. Didn't you say Ben was moving in, though? It doesn't look any different.”

“Exactly!” Leslie calls from the kitchen bringing in some wine for the two of them. “I bitched and moaned about wanting this place to be ours, but it's still mine. _My_ stupid couch. _My_ stupid fridge. _My_ stupid _Alf_ shot glasses.”

Ann sips from her glass, nodding while looking around for inspiration. “Get a new couch, maybe? This one's kinda lumpy anyway.”

“It's a start, but I don't think that's going to do it. Let's keep coming up with ideas,” Leslie says excitedly, drinking fully from her cup.

Their brainstorming efforts combined with their drinking isn't quite as fruitful as Leslie would hope.

“You gotta ask yourself,” Ann says, smacking her lips after finishing her second glass of wine, “what would Samantha do?”

“Ugh, Ann. I told you, I'm a Miranda/Charlotte mix with only hints of Samantha.”

What are they even talking about?

Oh yeah, her house.

It's during her fourth glass that Leslie exclaims “No no no no, shhh Ann, shhhhh!” She puts a finger on Ann's lips to stop her best friend's rant about Tom. “What if,” Leslie pauses to swallow a burp, “what if I, we, Ben and I, move to a new place and just get new furniture and crap?”

“Aww that's nice,” Ann says, laying her head on Leslie's shoulder. “But it's been clean for the first time in like, forever. For Benny! Benny-wenny! You can't just leave your clean house or else he'll be sad that you're giving up something for him.”

Leslie contemplates this for a second. “That's a good point.” In retrospect she'll realize it wasn't. “So I should messy it up again?”

“Yeah!” Ann cheers, and Leslie joins in. It's the best idea ever!

It's the worst idea ever.

Ann wakes up, groggy and hungover, on Leslie's couch to see her with a coffee in hand. Leslie doesn't look or feel any better.

“I'm uh...” Her throat feels like sandpaper, so she drinks from her too-hot coffee. “I'm not throwing this house around again.”

Ann nods. “We'll think of something.”

That something is in Leslie's suitcase for her trip to DC. Once she's situated in Ben's swanky hotel room and Ben has demonstrated how much he missed her using his very compelling and thought-provoking fingers, Leslie slips out of Ben. Ben protests, but she assures him that she's coming right back.

“Here,” she says, handing Ben an envelope stamped by Pawnee's Health Department. He opens it while trying to deduce what it could be by her cunning look.

_Dear Ms. Knope,_

_I am writing to inform you that your home is a scary nightmare hoarder nest. Despite your vocal claims that you have “tidied up the place,” I still have no choice but to write you up. Consider your house pretty gross and in need of being moved out of if you ever want to start a life with anyone you love._

_Best of luck finding this letter under all your crap,_

_Ann Perkins_

_Public Relations Director_

_Pawnee Department of Health_

After reading the letter out loud, Ben looks at her. “So we're going to move to a new house?”

“Oh? You think we should? Well if you insist...” Leslie responds with joking innocence before sobering up and speaking to him seriously. “This can be the first place you settle into that's _yours_. It'll be ours, of course, but that means you still have a say in what goes into it. It means we don't look at the furniture and say, 'Well, it was Leslie's before Ben moved in, so it's going to stay I guess.' My house can never be ours like it should be.”

Ben squeezes her hand. “I like the idea of that, even though you really need to stop stressing out about things like this. I'll be back before you know it, and then we can handle it it.”

“But I'm tired of us always transitioning. I just want us to live our life together. I want everything to be perfect and ready when you come home,” Leslie counters.

“You are my home, Leslie Knope. You are everything I want to come home to. But since you're not a bed and a roof over my head--”

“Another unrealistic expectation for women--”

“I'm going to work at it from here, and we're going to make decisions together.”

To emphasize his point, Ben sends her a few house listings in Pawnee that he likes before her plane even lands. When she tours the homes, she Skypes with him on her phone, angering her realtor Martha when Leslie vocalizes all of the faults in the home loud enough for the owners to hear. They narrow down their choices, Ben managing to see a couple when he visits her for the last time before their final stretch, before he can come back for good.

“They don't scream 'home,' though,” he says after visiting the last one.

“Well, I hope they don't scream anything because a haunted house is cool in theory but probably pretty scary in reality. We'll find the one,” Leslie assures him.

Time's running out. Ben has just two more weeks left in DC when he sends her an email, the subject line reading “CHECK THIS ONE OUT!” The body of the message says “Sorry for the caps lock, but seriously THIS LOOKS LIKE THE ONE!”

Leslie drags Ann and Martha there in the middle of the workday, taking videos and pictures to send to Ben to watch later and not disturb him during work. She's surprised when her phone chimes minutes later.

**Ben (2:04pm): Do it. It's home. I want to come home to that house.**

She applies for the lease. Everything is coming together. Walking through the home, Leslie doesn't just see her and Ben relaxing on the couch after a long day - she sees children running through to the backyard, she sees mantels brimming with photos of her and Ben at events, both public and private, she sees a toy box on the floor and drawings on the fridge.

What she doesn't see is Ben not with her in less than two weeks because he's taking a job in Florida.

Maybe she's overreacting. They still have to talk about it later. Or maybe the trend of things going well just before they get worse in her life is repeating.

“Leslie, this is DC all over again,” Ann tells her after visiting with poor Jerry. “You let him go, and you were certain and all gung-ho about it then. But long distance took it's toll on you. You can honestly tell him that you're making these huge steps for your life together in Pawnee, and he needs to be here.”

Can she, though? They nearly broke up for her dream, and she was so indignant at their separation that they made it work at the cost of his job. She got to have both in the end, Ben and the seat on city council. It isn't fair that she ends up with everything and he deals with her asking him _again_ to turn down a potentially amazing job only to be unemployed in Pawnee and smile next to her in photo ops. His phone call from a yacht about how this job would be smooth sailing (pun not intended) just reenforces the idea that Ben could be his happiest working in that world. It's a shame that world keeps him from her, but what's another few months in the span of a lifetime?

Putting her heart and mind into raising money for Jerry distracts her momentarily. Her failing to bring back more than enough for just one of his medical tests, however, hits Leslie harder than anything regarding Jerry has.

“Leslie, you can't actually plan your future. I mean, there's no guarantees in this world. As long as the people that I love are a part of my life, I will be just fine,” he tell her. It's shining advice, completely unexpected from Jerry.

Leslie reminds herself that Ben _is_ a part of her life, just not so much a physical presence for a little while longer. If that means letting their dream home go, then that's what it means.

Ann sounds strange on the phone that night when Leslie apologizes for trying to auction her off and informs her that she's not going through with the lease. “You're willing to give Ben up for god knows how many months longer?”

“If it means I still get him in the end, then yeah. I'll do anything,” Leslie responds. But Ann didn't sound incredulous or accusatory, just understanding. “You don't have any more arguments? You were pretty hesitant about this earlier.”

There's a long pause. “I have a feeling things are going to work out for you guys.”

The next day as Leslie walks through their dream home again, it's to say goodbye to the future it promised. That life, those kids - it may be in her future, but who knows? She's not going to plan it; she's just going to let it happen.

How did Ben get here? Is he down on one knee?

“Oh my God. What are you doing?”

There's a ring on her finger. Somewhere in the background, Ben explains that he told Ann he was coming back, and she urged him to rush to the house for sale before it was too late. Leslie pulls him into another kiss, hoping the passion behind it is enough to communicate how thankful she is that he's here with her, that he's _home_.

“We've gotta tell Martha!” Leslie says, running to chase after the realtor to keep the lease. Ben's close behind, chuckling at Leslie showing off her ring. “This house? Ours!” She cheers, not even noticing that Martha merely nods, sighing at her overzealous clients.

Sometimes making a home yours has a way of working itself out. Leslie just never thought the first real moment in theirs would be planning the next big step of their lives.

 


End file.
